


Promises and Priorities

by anticyclone



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Biting, F/M, Mind Control, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: Damien doesn't run off during Zero Hour. Actually, he kind of … won't leave. He just can't seem to take no for an answer.





	Promises and Priorities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radioqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioqueen/gifts).



_ "So, uh. You and I have someone in common." _ The sound of Damien snapping his seatbelt into place made Joan cringe. It was too much to actually look at the chair next to her but she could imagine Sam's expression, eyebrows creeping up, eyes wide.

Over the audio feed it was impossible to guess at Mark's expression, but he sounded deeply skeptical.  _ "You know Joanie?" _

_ "She lets you call her Joanie?" _

_ "Lets me? I'm her brother, of course she… Wait, wait. Did Joanie send you?" _

_ "You say send, I say blackmailed, bribed, whatever." _

Sam tugged on her sleeve, and Joan was forced to make eye contact. It was exactly as awful as she'd been expecting. Sam looked like she was about to press the back of her hand to Joan's forehead to see if she was running a fever. "How  _ did  _ you convince Damien do this, Joan? You never said."

"It's not relevant."

Damien laughed, and bright spots of color rose to Joan's cheeks. For a moment she had forgotten that he could hear them on the audio feed, too.

_ "Okay."  _ Mark did not sound okay.  _ "You're her, uh… friend?" _

Sam snorted. "I'd have trouble believing that too."

_ "And thank  _ you,  _ Damien, for risking  _ your  _ neck breaking into a secret government organization and hauling out a coma patient,"  _ Damien muttered. They could hear the car engine start up and the van begin to move.

_ "Who are you talking to?" _

_ "Dr. B - your sister - and Sam." _

_ "Wait, Sam? Sam is there? Here?" _

_ "I guess." _

_ "Um." _

Sam was holding her breath.

_ "Sam… is there. With my sister."  _ Mark stopped, and the sounds of traffic picked up.  _ "Dr. B?" _

_ "Yeah. Your sister." _

_ "You call my sister Dr. B?" _

_ "She definitely doesn't let me call her Joanie." _

_ "Are you her patient?" _

_ "No."  _ Damien paused. When he spoke, he sounded deeply pleased with himself.  _ "I'm like her… boyfriend." _

Sam choked, and Joan slid down in her chair. All the way to the floor.

***

Mark hugged her so tight it hurt. It felt like he was using her to hold himself up but it was the best hug Joan had ever gotten. Over his shoulder, she met Damien's eyes. He winked. Sam made a face. He winked at her too.

Joan reluctantly loosened her grip enough to lean back and look at her brother's face. "I missed you," she said. Her voice was unacceptably damp. She held onto him for another minute before managing to let go and turn him toward Sam. They had years' worth of things to talk about, but she didn't want to do it in front of anybody else.

Sam hesitantly raised one hand and waved. "Hi."

"Hi," Mark said. He reached out. Sam moved to accept a hug, but Mark's hand grazed her cheek instead.

"What a touching reunion," Damien said.

Joan grabbed his sleeve. "We'll be in the kitchen."

The safe house was small. Originally it had only been intended to accommodate two people. There were two tiny bedrooms barely larger than their beds, and a pull-out couch in the living room that the previous residents hadn't removed. The kitchen was sparse and tiled with linoleum and some kind of plastic countertop. The kitchen door was also bizarrely an inch or two smaller than all the other doors in building, which she'd discovered when trying to haul a tiny table in from her car.

Damien clipped his shoulder on the door frame as she pulled him through. "Ow!"

"I can't believe you." Joan turned on her heel and took a step forward. Damien hurriedly backed up, until he ran out of room and bumped into the counter. "I have seen you do a lot, Damien, but this? Is that absolutely the only thing you could think of to say? The only explanation you could think to give?"

"It's not like we prepared for that part," he protested.

"Get Mark, get in the car, get here," Joan said. She punctuated each direction by poking Damien in the chest, at which his expression got uncomfortably sharp. Then she wrapped her arms around her middle to stop herself from doing it again. "It was simple. It was easy. You didn't need to start making up stories about us."

Damien pressed a hand against the small of her back. He lowered his voice when he spoke, but the effect was a little ruined by the scowl on his face. "When do we get to the part where you tell me I did a good job?"

"Oh, would you like a cookie?"

"If I say yes do I get you in an apron?"

Joan considered unfolding her arms to punch him in the shoulder. But that would be slow, and he would probably stop her. There was no pull from his ability, either, which meant it was pretty likely he was just trying to get a rise out of her. So instead she smiled at him - which made him grin - and silently stomped on his foot. Damien jerked away so hard that his head bumped against the kitchen cabinets with a loud  _ thud. _

Joan took a couple of steps back so there was space between them when Sam and Mark came rushing in a second later. "He was trying to sit on the counter," she said, before Mark could open his mouth in a question  _ and  _ before Sam could finish bringing a fist up.

The only way to convince Sam not to completely freak out about Damien's …  _ comment  _ … had been, unfortunately, to tell a little bit of the truth. In order to convince Damien to work with them Joan had agreed to try to find another atypical with his ability. In order to prepare him for the rescue Joan had agreed to practice with him.

_ "Practice?" Sam's voice went up at least an octave. "Do you know what could've happened?" _

_ "I'm well aware. I took precautions and we laid out petty exercises. That was all." _

If it occurred to Sam that petty exercises, like making Joan do chores she was trying to avoid, wasn't much a test of Damien's ability or Joan's capability to resist… well, Sam didn't bring it up and Joan wasn't going to answer questions that hadn't been asked. Going into detail on the truly unremarkable practice sessions had helped prevent Sam from saying anything when the van had pulled up. The look on her face now said she still wanted to wring Damien's neck for doing anything to Joan at all, even force her to fold a fitted sheet.

It was sweet. Joan almost wished she could tell Sam more. But if she did Mark would inevitably discover the story, too, and that was simply too much to contemplate.

"Maybe we should all go sit down," Sam said. "It's getting late. Damien probably wants to get back to town."

That would actually be  _ perfect. _

Rubbing the back of his head, Damien stomped over to the fridge in the corner. He stared at its contents like he had been expecting something other than piles of fruits, veggies, and liquid meal supplements (designed for people who had trouble keeping food down, say from recently coming out of a years-long coma). He started to reach for something, then stopped and shut the fridge instead. "I'm not going back to the city."

"Damien is staying for dinner," Joan found herself saying. It was like having her feet knocked out from under her.

Sam's eyes got wide. "Joan."

"That sounds nice?" Mark said, somewhat desperately. He coughed, and everyone turned to look at him. "Sitting down sounds nice. Food … maybe. I'm not really sure what my stomach is doing right now. What've you got?"

***

Mark's leg bounced up and down. He didn't seem to notice. They were in the first bedroom, the one with the slightly more comfortable bed. Dinner had been stilted but the meal replacement shake had gone down well. Mark had changed into the pajamas Joan had bought him. She'd guessed wrong on the size but he'd said he didn't mind them being too big. He'd been fine until he'd caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, which had set Joan off, too.

And here they were. His eyes were red and Joan was sure she didn't look any better. Her chest ached with the effort of holding back the worst of the tears.

"Will you ever forgive me?"

Mark turned to look at her again, his leg going still. "Joanie. I'm not mad at you." He hesitated. "Not anymore. It's been a long time. I'm done with it."

"I let you down."

"I mean, I wish you had never worked for that place. I saw some people, doing some helpful things. Most of it was awful. If I could shut the entire AM down tonight, I would. But if you hadn't worked there, I'd probably still be stuck in the 1800s." Mark rubbed his hand over his face. "Do you really think they would've released me if I hadn't gotten trapped?"

Over dinner Joan had told him the whole story. About finding him, about fighting with Owen and then Ellie, about quitting and about losing him all over again when he never woke up from that last trip. Which of course meant that Sam and Damien were hearing the story too. There were a lot of parts she hadn't exactly gone into detail with Sam before, and Sam had left half her food untouched in favor of staring wordlessly at her. Damien had poked at his food and mostly kept his eyes on the table.

"I do. I think Ellie was hoping that if… you came home, I'd rethink my resignation."

Mark stuck out his tongue. It actually made Joan laugh, and then he was laughing, too. He leaned against her side for a moment and let out a slow breath. "I'm so tired."

"You can go to sleep." Joan wiped at her eyes. "I've kept you up too late already."

"Wait. I have one more question, um."

"Yes?"

"Are you really dating this guy?"

She stared at him, but he didn't look away. His face was very serious. The kind of expression that said he wasn't really joking. Finally, she ground out, "I am not."

Mark was visibly relieved. His shoulders sagged, and he leaned his weight against the headboard. "Oh. Good." He laughed again, and Joan wished she could join him. "I thought it was pretty weird he called you Dr. B."

"You can essentially ignore anything Damien says." It would be smart to keep all her bases covered here. Damien knew far too much about her, and specifically about her during the time Mark was gone, for comfort.

Her brother shook his head, slowly, still laughing. "Okay, Joanie."

***

Once Mark was asleep, Joan went and washed her face in the bathroom sink. It helped a tiny bit. Looking at herself in the mirror, she realized that when Mark inevitably wanted to go through his old photos, she wasn't sure what she would find. It felt like she had completely redone herself since the last time her brother had taken her picture. Did she look that much different? That much more tired?

"Sam, I think I'm old," she said, sighing as she stepped into the living room.

Sam opened her eyes with a start. She had opened up the pull-out couch and was propped up on a mound of still-folded bedding. "You're not old. Wait, why do you think you're old?"

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't wake me up." Sam yawned and shook her head. "Are you okay? Is Mark okay?"

"For the moment. Where did Damien go?"

"On a walk."

Joan raised an eyebrow, but Sam didn't laugh. Okay. Maybe he'd grown tired of the atmosphere and hitchhiked his way back into the city. (A woman could dream.) "We just spoke. There's a lot of history we have to resolve. Things could be worse."

"Can I, um…"

"He's asleep. Sorry, I wasn't thinking-"

"No, no, it's okay. He looked exhausted anyway." Sam sat up a little so she could rest her head against the wall. "I mean. You don't think they seriously messed him up, do you? I mean, physically? He just looked so much healthier when I saw him."

"The projection of his mind was probably based on an ideal version of himself," Joan said. "Also, I think we'll be able to manage his symptoms. I did receive periodic medical updates on his condition and there was never any distress with his organs. I can show you some papers…"

But Sam had fallen asleep.

For a moment Joan just watched her breathe. She looked tired, too. The three of them must make some kind of sight. She considered shaking Sam awake and guiding her to the other bedroom, but decided to leave her where she was, at least for this night. There was one blanket in the pile of bedding that she was able to pick up without waking Sam. Joan draped it over her and turned off all the lights except for the one on the porch.

It was tempting to lock the door. But they were in the middle of nowhere, and if Damien did come back from his walk, he'd wake everyone up knocking to be let in.

Joan was surprised to find the lamp in the other bedroom on. 'Surprise' didn't really capture the unpleasant feeling of seeing Damien sitting on the edge of the bed. He put away his phone as she frowned and quietly shut the door behind her. "What are you doing?" she asked, mindful to keep her voice quiet. "Sam said you left."

"Obviously, I didn't."

"I can see that. Why?"

Damien stood. He took a step forward that ate up half the distance between them and backed Joan up against the bedroom door. "You made me a lot of promises, Dr. B," he murmured, nuzzling her throat.

"This wasn't one of them."

He already had his hands on her back, under her shirt. Sam probably genuinely believed that he'd gone for a walk. He pressed his face against Joan's neck for a moment before drawing back. "You never did say thank you," he told her.

There was a silent pull keeping Joan from shoving him away in disgust. Less pulling, actually, and more like two hands on her shoulders, holding her still. All of that practice had made her fairly decent at resisting Damien, but she still wasn't perfect. None of her techniques worked well when he was putting all of his effort into it.

"You want congratulations that badly," she said, surprised she could get the words out. Sometimes she could talk her way around what Damien wanted, and put off actually doing it. At least for a moment.

He glared. "I did risk my neck for you."

Irritation bloomed and Joan was able to pull one of his hands off her. "It was a good plan. The risk was minimal."

_ "Minimal?  _ You didn't have to sneak into the secret facility and haul out a half-conscious stranger!"

"Everything would have gone exactly to plan if you hadn't stopped to interrogate Agent Green."

"If you ever told me anything maybe I wouldn't have had to."

"It wasn't any of your business. Mark's ability-"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Damien snapped. With his free hand he latched onto her wrist. All of a sudden he was turning them around, so Joan's back was to the small bed. "Green said he'd never seen another person like me. Not ever. Not even something close."

Then Joan's back was  _ on  _ the small bed. The mattress was firm and unyielding. Although the previous owners had left a few things, there hadn't been a whole lot of money to splurge on the furniture for the house. Damien let her go and then loomed above her. His shoulders began to shake. He didn't stop Joan from sitting up. Instead, that pressure settled on top of her again, a compulsion to stay on the bed for him.

"I think you made me a promise you couldn't keep, Dr. B. How long were you going to string me along?"

_ Thank you for rescuing Mark  _ burned on the back of her tongue. But it wasn't stronger than Joan's need to explain or Damien's need to know. "I never promised to  _ find  _ you someone, Damien. That's impossible. I promised to look. I told you it would take time!"

Damien drew a breath in through his teeth. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"Not usually."

"I think making a promise you were pretty sure you couldn't keep is a shitty thing to do to a guy."

"I told you what I could do. It's not my fault if you were overconfident in my abilities."

Joan bit off another insult and forced herself to breathe. The pressure keeping her pinned was starting to crack. It was a familiar feeling. Either it would shift, or crumble. It depended on Damien's mood. This wasn't… This wasn't something she wanted Mark or Sam to know about. There would be too many questions about things she'd already done and couldn't undo. She had to try to give things a push now, by herself.

"I'm sorry. You were right. I should've said it earlier." She edged forward to sit on the end of the bed while Damien's expression clouded. "Thank you for rescuing my brother, Damien. It  _ was  _ dangerous. Thank you."

His throat moved when he swallowed. The pressure around her spiked. "You want to make it up to me?"

"I have never wanted anything less," she said, grabbing the front of Damien's shirt and pulling.

It was amazing, the extent to which Damien could compel her hands but not her mouth. Sometimes she thought he got off on her complaints more than actually getting to touch her - not that he would compromise on that, either. He let out a stuttering breath as she pulled him down on top of her. His knee clumsily hit her leg. The cheap bed squeaked while Joan shifted her weight and inched backwards, leaving Damien room to kneel between her legs.

She ran a hand through his hair and his pupils widened. "If we make so much noise that someone knocks on that door I will bite your tongue off."

"You've already used that one. It's not as scary the second time." Damien had both his hands under her shirt. His fingers were fumbling with her bra strap. Also, his hands were freezing. Joan pushed them away and did it herself. The moment her shirt was on the floor with her bra Damien bent his head to the curve of her breast.

When she ran her hand through his hair again, she managed to wrap some of it around her fingers and yank. It didn't make Damien let her go but it did make him stop rolling his tongue across her nipple. "What are you going to do if I can't find someone with your powers?" she demanded. "You can't just do  _ this  _ forever."

"You always do this," he said, exasperated. His breathing was still erratic and there was a noticeable bulge in his jeans. Hands hadn't gotten any warmer, though, which she was able to note when he put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her against the pillows at the top of the bed. "You always try to have this totally unrelated conversation-"

"Oh I'm so sorry for interrupting you. Do you want to practice making me shut up, too?"

"I'd be willing to try," he muttered.

Joan focused all her willpower on a gap in his attention and kicked his leg, hard. His knee gave out and he fell onto his side. One of his hands latched onto her wrist when she moved to push him over the edge of the mattress. He pinned it against the bed. Then he seemed to think better of himself and brought her hand down to his jeans. Joan's fingers fumbled under the press of his ability. She could clearly picture herself headbutting his chin (and possibly injuring herself in the process) but couldn't get herself to do it.

Then Damien grabbed her by both shoulders and flipped them over. Joan found herself pulling his jeans down from his hips. "Oh, really? You're going to literally make me shut up?" she asked, curling her hand around the base of his cock.

He glared at her for a split second before her hand began to move, and then his expression cracked and he dropped his head to the pillows. His chest was moving rapidly up and down. "Just trying to follow my doctor's suggestions. Personal growth and all that shit." He did not manage to make it seem sarcastic, which was little comfort.

A tiny sliver of her wanted to scream that Damien didn't even like blowjobs that much, so why was he bothering? But the pressure against the back of her head felt just like his hands, guiding her down, and every wall she tried to throw up against him crumbled.

Her lips parted and Damien let out a slight, pathetic whine when his cock hit the back of her throat a moment later. Joan wanted to gag for multiple reasons. She moved her head up and down and then pulled back for air, her hair falling into her eyes. Her lips wrapped around the head of his cock and Damien brought his hips up unexpectedly, shoving himself into her mouth. She choked but couldn't lean away.

"You've had worse," Damien insisted. "I know you can… fuck," he mumbled, his fingers sliding against the sheets when she opened her mouth wider. His hips jerked again.

She could distantly hear the wet noises her mouth was making. Her jaw was burning now. Damien wasn't that big, couldn't be that big, but she couldn't  _ breathe,  _ except when she leaned back. Except he didn't  _ want  _ her to lean back. He  _ wanted  _ her to take him as far as she could, and look up at him through her hair, and to brace one of her hands on his hip. She did manage to dig her nails into his skin but it just made him suck in a sharp breath and his pupils go wider.

Her eyes teared up. The edges of the room blurred. Joan forced herself to blink her eyes clear and look at his face. His hair was mussed and his face had grown pink with exertion. He caught her looking at him, wet his lips, and pulled back far enough that his cock just barely fell from her mouth.

When Joan turned her head he pulled one hand back at the same time she bent and coughed over the side of the bed. Spit fell on the carpet. Her stomach clenched, sour, and she coughed so hard Damien rubbed a circle against her back.

The room swam. She thought about Mark on the other side of the wall and twisted so she could press her cheek against the sheets and suck in fresh air a little more quietly.

Damien moved down the bed so he was kneeling behind her. Bending down, he kissed the curve of her shoulder. His cock pressed against her ass. "Yeah?"

"Just be quiet."

"Priorities, Dr. B." Damien clicked his tongue at her, but he kept his voice down.

He pushed the tip of his cock into her ass and thrust shallowly, working her open, until he could sink in further. The pressure of his ability slid over her skin in familiar lines. Her entire body clenched and it hurt when Damien pushed further into her, but his breath was hitching and his hands were shaking when he grabbed her sides, so he was getting what he wanted. As per usual.

Joan pushed herself up onto her elbows and Damien laid heavily on top of her so he could kiss the back of her neck while he thrust shallowly back and forth. "I hope I  _ do  _ find someone with your power and he breaks your head open," she hissed at him.

He bit down on her shoulder and pushed all the way into her ass. "You're really slipping if you're calling it my power instead of my ability."

"If you break the skin-"

"I'm not gonna break your skin," he said, pausing to bite at the curve of her neck. Her throat burned. Her shoulder burned. Her ass, stretched around the length of his cock, burned. "Don't promise not to leave a mark, but…"

"Stop it, Damien."

One of his hands slid under her. He rolled his thumb over her clit and easily dipped a finger into her cunt. "You ever going to admit how much you like me?"

Joan couldn't kick him, not like this. She couldn't move her arm behind her to hit him either. So instead she pressed her face against the sheets again. At least the answer he pulled out of her came out too muffled to understand.

Damien lowered his mouth to her ear. "If it's not mind control, then some part of you's letting me do this." A moment too late Joan realized that the hand he swept gently over the stinging bite mark on her neck was the hand he'd teased into her, and by then he had dipped his finger past her lips. She sucked reflexively and he shuddered.

"Fuck," he muttered, breathing hard again. He pulled his hand free and briefly gripped her jaw, tilting her head over to bite her throat again, in the same place. "You shouldn't do shit like that if you don't want me to come inside you."

"Honestly," she said, turning her head slightly, so her voice would travel past the bedding, "I'm already going to have to wash the sheets."

Damien stared at her for a split second before he started to laugh. She glared at him. He covered his mouth with his wet hand until he could stop laughing, and then he grabbed her hips and started thrusting again. "I don't know where you come up with this shit, Doc."

Joan would've snapped something about using her brain for more things than sex, but she found her hand had wandered down to continue where Damien left off with her clit. She had to turn her face down again to mask the sudden sound of a small gasp for air. Damien let out a soft groan when she did.

He came shortly after and pulled out of her very slowly. She felt his cum drip out of her and onto his thights - and the sheets. Her hand slipped, and she was coming, too, Damien nuzzling at her throat. "God, you're so good when you let go for me," he told her, sucking at the bite mark on her neck.

Joan just curled up instead of trying to push him off. It wasn't like she could do laundry now anyway. Mark and Sam were both asleep. Also, she didn't want to pass her reflection in the bathroom mirror.


End file.
